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Cap. Ha! let me see her - Out alas, she's cold,
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff,
Life and these lips have long been separated :
· Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest Aower of the field.
Accursed time! unfortunate old man!
Enter Friar Lawrence, and Paris with Musicians.
Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church ?
Cap. Ready to go, but never to return.
O fon, the night before the wedding-day
Hath death lain with thy wife: see, there she lies,
Flower as she was, deflower'd now by him:
Death is my son in-law. -
Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face,
And doth it give me such a light as this ?
La. Cap. Accurst, unhappy, wretched, hateful day,
Moft miserable hour, that Time e'er saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage.
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel death harb catcht it from my sight.
Nurse. Oh woe! oh woful, woful, woful day! +
Most lamentable day! most woful day!
That ever, ever,
I did yet behold,
Oh day! oh day! oh day! oh hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this:
Oh woful day! oh woful day!
Fri. Oh peace for shame
Your daughter lives in peace and happiness,
And it is vain to wish it otherwise.
Heav'n and your self had part in this fair maid,
Now heav’n hath all-
Come + This Speech of exclamations is not in the edition above cited. Several other parts, unnecessary or tautology, are not to be found in the said edition; which occafions the variation in this from the common books.
Come stick your rosemary on this fair corpse,
And as the custom of our country is,
In all her best and sumptuous ornaments
Convey her where her ancestors lie tomb’d.
Cap. All things that we ordained festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral:
Our instruments, to melancholy bells;
Our wedding chear, to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
And bridal flow'rs serve for a buried coarse.
Muf. Faith we may put up our pipes and be gone.
Nurse. Honest good fellows: ah, put up, put up,
know this is a pitiful case. Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
Enter Peter. Pet. Musicians, oh musicians, heart's ease, heart's ease: oh, an you will have me live, play heart's ease.
Muf. Why heart's ease?
Pet. O musicians, because my heart it self plays, my heart is full of woe. Oplay me some merry dump, to comfort me!
Muf. Not a dump we, 'tis no time to play now.
Pet. You will not then?
Pet. I will then give it you foundly.
Muf. What will you give us ?
Pet. No mony on my faith, I'll re you, I'll fa you, do you
Muf. An you re us, and fa us, you note us,
2 Mus. Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit.
Pet. 'Then have at you with my wit, answer me like men:
When griping griefs the keart dorh wound,
Then musick with her silver found -----
Why silver found? why mufick with her filver sound)
What say you, Simon Carling?
Muf. Marry, Sir, because filver bath a fweet found.
Pet. 8 Pretty! what say you, Hugh Rebeck?
2 Muf. I say silver found, because musicians found for Hilver.
Pet. "Pretty too! what say you Samuel Sound-board?
3 Muf. Faith I know not what to say.
Pet. 0 I cry ýou mercy, you are the singer, I will say for you.
It is musick with her filver sound, because such fellows as you have no gold for sounding.
[Exit. Muf. What a peftilent knave is this fante?
2 Muf. Hang him, Jack, 'come, 'we'll 10 here, tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.
F I may trust the * Aattery of fleep,
My dreams presage fome joyful news at haad:
My bofom's lord firs lightly on his chrone,
And all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with chearful thoughts.
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead,
(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think)
And breath'd such life with kiffes in my lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an Emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love it self pofleft,
When but love's shadows are so rich in jogo
Enter Romeo's Man.
News from Verona -
---- How Dow Balthazar ?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the Friar ?
How doth my lady ? is my facher well ?
How doth my Juliet? that I ask again,
For nothing can be ill, if the be well,
Man. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill,
Her body sleeps in Capulet's monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives:
I saw her laid low in her kindreds vault,
And presently took post to tell it you:
O pardon me for bringing these ill new
Rom. Is it even so ? then I defy you, stars !
Thou knowlt my lodging, get me ink and paper,
And hire post-horses. I will hence to-night.
Man. Pardon me Sir, I dare not leave you
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Rom. Tush, thou art deceivid,
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do:
Halt thou no letters to me from the Friar?
Man. No, good my lord.
Rom. No matter : Get thee gone,
And hire those horses, I'll be with thee straight.
Well Juliet, I will lye with thee to-night;
Let's see for means ---- O mischief! thou art swift
To enter in the thought of desperate men!
I do remember an Apothecary,
6. And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted
• In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
• Culling of simples; meager were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
"An alligator stuft, and other skins
• Of ill-shap'd fishes, and about his shelves
• A beggarly account of empty boxes ;
• Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
- Were thinly scattered, to make up a shew.
Noting this penury, to my self I said,
And if a man did need a poison now,
Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would fell it him.
Oh this same thought did but fore-run my need,
And this fame needy man must sell it me.